Chapter 11

© Copyright 2006 by Kendra Cornell



Paul sat in his office across from Steve Allen, a father and husband who had served faithfully as a deacon for the last five years at Refuge Christian. Steve was also a lawyer, and had agreed to go over the offending paperwork.

“Paul, I’ve got to be honest. Foreclosure is not exactly my area of expertise. But I can give you at least some idea of what you are looking at here. Foreclosure is essentially a legal procedure in which a property is sold to cover the amount of the loan- usually initiated when a series of payments are overdue. There is nothing in this letter about redemption- which is just what it sounds like. Refuge Christian would be able to pay the outstanding amount, plus interest, thereby retaining rights, title and interest on the property,” Steve looked up, pushing his owlish glasses up his nose. “Frankly, I’ve never seen this kind of a letter before. It doesn’t look like any legal document I’ve ever seen, and frankly, I would check into this … Jays-Amendlee Associates.’ I’ve never heard of them, which doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but you might need to do some homework here.”

Paul was getting a headache. This was not what he wanted to deal with, but it needed to be done. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he asked, “What are you saying, Steve? That someone out there is messing around with us? This foreclosure thing might not even be legal?”

Steve mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “I don’t know, Paul. There’s an address and a phone number here. Give them a call. See what you can find out. Take notes. I’ll take another look at it next week, and in the meantime, I’ll talk to a friend of mine who knows a lot more about the intricacies of this than I do,” Steve smiled. “I think I slept through half these classes in law school. In the meantime, pray and rest. God’s got something going here. And I have faith that he won’t let our little church go yet.”

Paul walked out with Steve. “Thank-you... At least I have a little more understanding about this. And I appreciate you taking the time to come down here with me.”

“We’ll see you in the morning, Paul. Take care of yourself,” said Steve as he walked to his car.

“Will do,” replied Paul with a wave.

Instead of returning to his office, Paul went into the chapel. He loved it here. Colored panes of stained glass rose on both sides of the church. Old pews worn to a high gloss smelled of lemon oil. The cushioned seats were a comfortable alternative to the hard wooden benches of his own boyhood. Paul walked slowly through the chapel, savoring its scent and ambiance. He sat down in the front and prayed as naturally as he breathed.

“Lord, I know you have a purpose here. I want to confess my fear and my worry. I’m afraid because I don’t understand what all that legalese means, but it seems as though someone is threatening our little church. Please remind me Lord, that there is nothing here on earth that you don’t have in Your hand. For whatever reason, this is happening to our church. Please help us through it all. Show us the way to go. And help us to be Your light in the darkness.”

His head bowed, he stayed in a quiet presence before the Lord, not wanting this time to end. Slowly, another request made itself known.

“Lord, I sense the same heaviness of spirit that I had last night. There is someone out there that needs Your help right now. I pray for this person- for help, for wisdom, for strength. Whatever the need, I pray that you would meet it in all Your power and glory. I thank you that I can always be confident that you hear all my prayers. Please uphold me Lord and help me to lead these people in Christ. Amen.”

Awareness brought Paul slowly back to reality. Paul heard the whine of a lawnmower through one of the open windows at the back of the church. He heard birds and crickets outside. There was something so peaceful about this place, and again, he thanked the Lord for letting him be here.

Finally, Paul rose and walked up the aisle to the double doors at the back of the chapel. There was a church potluck tonight- one of his favorite activities. There was something so wonderful about being able to fellowship together, and it sure didn’t hurt that church suppers often brought out the best in his affectionately competitive congregation- Which reminded him that he’d better get home to make his own contribution, a berry-cake trifle with real whipped cream.

Paul grabbed the mail as he walked into the unlit entryway. Mid-afternoon light filtered into the living room. Early May in Denver could go either way- it could be exceedingly comfortable, or dreary, wet and snowy. It was a blessing to have such beautiful spring weather- Mid-seventies and warm enough to coax the flowers out of the ground and into bloom. In addition to pots of annuals that several of the women in his congregation dutifully provided for his porch, Paul had planted beans and pumpkins- not because he particularly cared for either one, but because they were so easy to raise. And it was fun to watch the progress of the quick-growing plants.

Paul cut up the strawberry cake, his mother’s recipe that he had baked last evening. He layered the cake with the slightly sweetened whipped cream and the sugared fresh fruit. His bowl was Depression era glass, an heirloom that his mother had always used to create the treat. It just wasn’t the same without it. He covered the bowl with plastic wrap and placed it into the refrigerator- one more item down on his to-do list for the day.

Paul took the mail into his study, and sat at the desk. Electric bill, woohoo. Credit card offer, no thanks. What is this? A personal letter, housed in a pink envelope, was addressed to him in a feminine hand. He took his letter opener and quickly slit the envelope open. It was dated two months prior.

Dear Pastor Coburn,

Under certain circumstances, my lawyer has been instructed to mail a series of letters. He has no idea of their contents or purpose. I can assure you of that, and hope that you will not waste the time or energy questioning him later.

My name is Elizabeth James. We have never met, and I know you only through what might be called a paper-trail. It is my guess that by now, your church has received a series of letters threatening foreclosure. It is my company, owned jointly, that is the progenitor of those letters, and from what I understand they are quite legal and binding.

However, in the past few months, I have begun to notice some odd behavior in my business partner. It is because of this rather unsavory comportment that I feel I must send you this letter. Pastor Coburn, if you have received this letter, then it means that my worst fears have come to pass.

It must seem rather obvious that your church is being treated unfairly. Your payments, though late, are up to date. My partner is aiming to place himself in a position that would be of great interest to a number of individuals in this city. Simply put, your property is worth much more cut into lots than it is as a church. From a business and financial perspective, this makes sense.

However, to be quite honest, I do not think it would be in anyone’s best interests if this deal were to go through. So I am telling you to fight Tom Delaney. Call his bluff and you can save your church. Consider this my final act of a lifetime of generosity.

I would also warn you to stay away from the police. There are high-ranking members of the department who will stop you if they know what you are doing. You have all the information you need in front of you.

Regards,

Elizabeth L. James

Paul sat confused for a moment, trying to comprehend what he had just read. Final act? So this woman was... dead? And his church was in trouble unless he somehow accused one of the candidates for mayor of wrongdoing? This was completely out of left field as far as he was concerned, and Paul felt utterly incapable of taking a step in any direction let alone the right direction.

Paul did the only thing he knew to do. He bowed his head and went before the Lord. Heavenly Father, Things are getting much more complicated... What do you want me to do? If the church is a victim, how am I supposed to handle this?

Blindly, Paul opened his Bible. It fell open to the well-worn book of Psalms, and Paul began to read from Psalm 50:

“Trust me in your times of trouble, and I will rescue you, and you will give me glory.” Paul was pretty sure that this qualified as one of those times. Fighting the sense of being overwhelmed,

Paul prayed simply and to the point. “Lord, I know I’m being called to trust you right now. Please help me to act only as you would have me do so.” A familiar peace fell on him, and he rested in the comfort and the knowledge that the Lord was here- was with him even now as things seemed to be getting so unpredictable.




HEY! and don't forget to e-mail Kendra Cornell if you have a comment! She would really like to hear from you.





Return to Right to Refuge

Cybergrace Banner Exchange 2000